


Deux ans, C'est trop longue

by alxnikki



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Implied Character Death, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alxnikki/pseuds/alxnikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two years, John has had enough of Sherlock being gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deux ans, C'est trop longue

Rain danced against the window and a sharp ringing came from an old fashioned clock. Each morning was harder than the next. Even after all these months, life was dull. Every moment lacked that spark, a spark that only he brought to the doctor’s life. How is it that that impossible man had made such an impact? John sat up in his bed and slammed the alarm clock to shut it up. Sighing heavily, he checked his phone. He knew there would be no message from him. There never was. He couldn’t deal with this anymore.  
Today was the day.  
Grabbing his cane, he got himself out of bed and slipped on a dressing gown. Slowly, he hobbled down to the living room and sat in his chair. He couldn’t help but stare at the chair across from him. Sherlock should be in that chair, using his laptop without his permission, complaining about a lack of a (good) case, or making brilliant deductions. Beneath a thick layer of dust was his laptop. He hadn’t used it in months; he didn’t have much of a reason to use it anymore. The blog was over. Nothing happened to John Watson now, not without Sherlock. Blowing the dust away from the laptop, he opened it up and went to his email. Opening up a new email, he attached a document that he typed up months ago and wrote the following:  
To: Sarah Sawyer [ssawyer@mephone.co.uk]  
Subject: Resignation  
Att: Resignation.docx  
Ms. Sawyer,  
Attached is my letter of resignation. It was a pleasure working with you.  
Dr. John Watson  
It was done, he couldn’t turn back now. He set his laptop back on the table and looked around the flat. Nothing had changed since Sherlock died. Mrs. Hudson wanted to pack up Sherlock’s things and send them off, but he couldn’t do it. Everything was left exactly how Sherlock left it. It didn’t feel like home without his things. It wasn’t home without him.  
Nothing would ever be the same without Sherlock Holmes.  
Depending on the support of his cane, he stood up and began walking around the room. He took in his surroundings, desperately searching his brain for memories of the detective. It had been almost two years since he jumped. John’s surprised that he’s lasted this long without him. Before meeting Sherlock, he was planning to end it all. He was bored; his life had no meaning if he couldn’t be on that battlefield. Sherlock showed him a whole new battlefield. One he didn’t see anymore, not without Sherlock. Boredom got to him again, so did grief.   
Sluggishly, he limped back upstairs to his bedroom. He sat on his bed and opened up the drawer of his bedside table. He reached for the only object in the drawer, his gun, and held it in his hand. It felt heavy, but it would lift away all weight from his shoulders. He would be at peace, at last. John stared at the gun for what seemed like hours. Things like this took a lot of courage. Of course, he was a brave man, yet he found that he faltered. This time he had to do it; he couldn’t chicken out again. Taking a deep breath, he set down his gun and picked up his phone. Opening up a new text message, he decided to leave a note.   
To: Sherlock Holmes  
I know you’re not coming home. I’ve hoped that you would for months now, but I can see that it will never happen. It’s been too long. I can’t live another day without you. Afterlife or not, I have to join you. Life isn’t worth living if I can’t be on the battlefield. There is no battlefield without you, Sherlock. I loved you. I never told you that, but I should have. I love you more than anything in the world. It’s too late for that now, though.   
JW  
Reading and rereading the message dozens of times, John finally pressed the send button and picked up his gun once more. He knew he would get an error message. That number is out of service, no one has used that phone in two years. The phone beeped, the screen flashing “new message.” It was probably an error message, but he still opened it up.  
Sherlock Holmes:  
John, put down your gun. You cannot kill yourself because I didn’t kill myself. If you give me the chance, I’ll explain everything. Tell me where you are.  
SH  
There was no way. He was delusional. A dead man texted him, he really lost his mind. He felt compelled to respond, though.  
To: Sherlock Holmes  
I know I’ve lost my mind, now. I’m at Baker Street, I never left.   
JW  
He put the gun on the bedside table and waited for a response. He must be dreaming, or insane, maybe both.  
Sherlock Holmes:  
Give me one hour, I promise I will be there. Do not kill yourself, please.  
SH  
One hour, the longest hour of his life he was sure of it.  
To: Sherlock Holmes  
I’ll be waiting. I don’t know what to expect.  
JW  
John grabbed his cane and got up again. If someone was to come over in an hour, he better be downstairs to greet them. He honestly didn’t know what to expect. Sherlock had been dead almost two years. His phone hadn’t been found with him and the number hadn’t been given to anyone else. He knew that for a fact, he texted Sherlock constantly immediately after his death. This had to be some sort of sick joke. He was far too old to play games like that.   
Sitting back down in his chair, his eyes turned to a clock on the desk. He stared at the hands, watching, counting each second that passed. Silently, he wished time would move faster, and then again he wanted time to slow down. He was unsure of who was going to walk through that door. The wait was painstaking and his curiosity was getting the better of him.   
The door behind him creaked open, breaking the overwhelming silence in the flat. He was afraid to look back and see who was there.  
“John.”  
The voice was all too familiar. He turned around and knew immediately that it was him, even though he looked a little different.   
“Sherlock.”   
Sherlock walked over to the chair and hugged John.  
“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ending is a bit rushed, I know, but that's how I wanted it to end. 
> 
> This is a Sherlock Secret Santa gift for alwaysnifty!


End file.
